


Achilles Heel

by Socket



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socket/pseuds/Socket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 6 months of working boring cases as a paralegal Franky finally gets a case she can sink her teeth into but it drives a wedge between her and Bridget. Can she find a way to have it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline:** Post 4x01

Franky frowned and rubbed her eyes wearily. It was gone midnight and she was the only one left in the office. Again. 

She looked at her watch and sighed. She’d sent Gidge a text message telling her she’d be home late but it didn’t alleviate the guilt.

Bridget always understood; Franky was trying to build a career for herself and she had to start at the bottom. Being an ex-crim, it had taken her six months to find this job and she was going to grab the opportunity with both hands. Which meant she had to work twice as hard as everyone else. 

She was slogging her way through the briefing papers for the impending case of Simon Dexter, a 71 year old farmer who had been fined $400 (plus costs) after pleading guilty to dispatching 10 cattle to a sale yard without proper identification. It was tedious work and she’d rather be at home with Gidget. Curled-up on the sofa, drinking wine and kissing… or out dancing, drinking beer and kissing… but she had to focus. Had to keep reminding herself of the bigger picture. Of her future.

Franky made a note about National Livestock Identification System tags and tried not to picture the expression of disappointment on Bridget’s face when she realised Franky wouldn’t be home tonight.

**************

Bridget was asleep when Franky tip-toed into their bedroom. The brunette stripped and threw her clothes in the dirty laundry hamper. She opened a dresser drawer and pulled an oversized T-Shirt over her head from a _Divinyls_ gig she’d gone to with Bridget. She doesn’t remember much about the band but has fond memories of the far cubicle in the ladies. She’d found out just how flexible Bridget was that night.

She slipped into bed and gazed at Bridget. The blonde lay peacefully on her side, hands tucked under the pillow, breathing gently. Franky smiled because she can’t help herself, then felt overcome with guilt because she’s starting to wonder what colour Gidge’s eyes are… she’s been late home every night this month. 

She reached out and gently stroked Bridget’s cheek. Gidget murmured something indecipherable and Franky smiled. She snuggled close to her girlfriend and closed her eyes. Exhausted, she fell asleep almost immediately.

**************

When she woke up Bridget’s side of the bed was empty and there was a pot of coffee brewing. She found a note on the Kitchen table. 

_Let’s do something fun this weekend. Gidget xx_

Franky smiled. 

**************

It was just gone 6pm on Wednesday night and Franky’s eyes kept darting to the clock. She wouldn’t be late tonight; she had to draw a line. She pushed her chair back from her desk and was about to pull her jacket on when Lorraine approached. 

Lorraine Wilson was one of the top solicitor’s at _Clayton & Associates_ and the one who had hired Franky; she’d seen potential and had been nothing but encouraging. Franky felt an unwavering need to prove Lorraine’s faith hadn’t been mistaken.

“New case,” Lorraine said and dropped a file on Franky’s desk.

Doyle tried to hold-back her annoyance. 

“Something you can sink your teeth into. You’ve earned it,” Lorraine stated and sauntered away.

Franky sat back down, drew her chair up to her desk and flipped the folder open. Her eyes skimmed the first page and she was instantly drawn in. 

In October of 2013 Riley Martinez - a local drug dealer and member of the _Young Kingz_ gang – had walked out of _Santini,_ a restaurant on Southbank Avenue, Central City at 5.26pm. As he strode towards his car a dark blue Fiat hurtled by and opened fire, spraying him with bullets. He hit the ground, dead. 

The front windows of _Santini’s_ was peppered with bullets; shattering glass around their customers as they dove to the floor. The laundrette and hairdressers either side were also pummelled full of bullets.

12 year old Jamal Kittering was walking along the pavement, on his way home from school, when he was caught in the crossfire. He was hit several times. 

The emergency services were on the scene within minutes. Jamal lay in a puddle of his own blood, gasping for air and crying in agony. He was treated at the scene by paramedics before being rushed to _The Royal Melbourne Hospital._ He had three bullet wounds – one embedded in his chest, one in his hip and one in his thigh. He survived but was left paralysed from the waist down.

Police cordoned off the street and forensic officers went to work gathering evidence. 

The Gang Crime Squad was called in to help investigate the shooting. They never found the shooter or the gun and no witnesses came forward. The Gang Crime Squad suspected it was a turf war between the _Young Kingz_ and _Mad Dogz_ over drugs. The _Young Kingz_ had been running an amphetamine ring and _Mad Dogz_ were trying to cut-in and take control of the market. 

There the trail went cold, until a month ago when Kiah Redmond, 26, was stopped by traffic police when her tail light was out. Police found a gun in her boot and she was arrested for carrying an unlicensed weapon. During questioning, she let slip that it belonged to her boyfriend, Noah Boyd. Then quickly clamed-up.

The gun was identified as that used in the drive-by shooting that killed Riley Martinez and seriously injured Jamal Kittering. 

The police believed Noah Boyd was the shooter and wanted to prosecute, however he had an alibi - Kiah swore he was with her all night.

Franky glanced at her watch and bit her lip, then delved into the file.

**************

It was gone 1am when she got home and Franky was anxious; she knew Bridget wanted to go out tonight. They had made plans with friends – drinks and a night club.  


She was almost glad when she got home and Bridget wasn’t there. Franky was torn – relieved Gidget went without her and a little jealous that the blonde had probably had a great night without her.

As if on cue, she heard keys in the front door and Bridget stumbled in. Slightly drunk, wearing a tight sequinned dress that fitted her like a second skin, four inch ‘fuck me’ heels and a glittering clutch bag.

She blundered down the hall and then spotted Franky. She raised her arms in the air in mock surprise. “Hello stranger! Your face seems vaguely familiar… have we met?!”

Bridget dropped her clutch on the kitchen table and moved towards the sink. She poured herself a tall glass of water.

“You’re getting very passive-aggressive in your old age Gidge, you might wanna consider more productive ways of dealing with your anger.”

Bridget scowled at Franky over her shoulder. “Ha ha.”

Franky smirked. “Have a good time?”

Bridget turned to face Franky, gulping down her water. She finished it in one go and took a deep breathe. “I did. The gang says hi. You missed a good night.” She set her glass down and headed for the bedroom, shedding clothes and shoes as she went.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Franky promised.

She stood in the doorway and watched Gidget crawl into bed naked.

“You always say that,” Bridget sighed, barely audible. 

It hurt because Franky knew it was true. She walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

Bridget had crept under the sheets and was already drifting into sleep, exhausted from a night of drinking and dancing.

Franky reached out and gently stroked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I miss you,” she murmured under her breath.

Bridget’s eyelids flickered. “I miss you too,” she mumbled and then fell into a sound sleep.

Franky gazed at Bridget for a few moments, then kicked off her shoes and headed into the bathroom.

**************

It was Thursday morning and the smell of breakfast woke her. Her stomach grumbled and she realised she hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime.

Franky got up and slung on her robe. She walked into the kitchen and saw Bridget cooking a fry-up. She sat at the kitchen table.

“How’s the hangover?” she teased.

Bridget glanced at Doyle over her shoulder. “I’m too old to party all night,” she confessed.

Franky grinned.

Bridget put the toast, eggs, bacon and beans on two plates, set one in front of Franky and took a seat beside her. They tucked in.

Franky savoured the taste of the food, closing her eyes. She rarely had time to cook anymore – the kitchen was Bridget’s domain these days.

“This is spectacular!” Franky exclaimed.

Bridget shrugged nonchalantly.

Franky looked nervously at her girlfriend. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Something came up at the office last minute.”

Bridget met those fiery eyes. She hated this; she understood about the pressures of a job, trying to do your best, wanting to do work that’s fulfilling… but they’re turning into a cliché. Franky was never home. Their relationship was almost non-existent and 90% of the time she felt like a nagging wife… felt like she was turning into her mother.

“I get it. I do,” Bridget declared, looking sad. “I just…”

Franky put her hand over Bridget’s. “I know,” she murmured and squeezed Bridget’s hand. “I’m free this weekend. What do you want to do?”

Bridget smiled, a full-watt smile. “There’s a silent movie weekend at the ICAA. We could grab dinner afterwards and,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, “who knows what else.”  


Franky bit into her toast. “It’s been so long I think my vagina’s sealed-up!”

Bridget had just taken a swig of orange juice and sprayed it everywhere, unable to contain her laughter. 

Franky chuckled raucously as Bridget turned to her, draped her arm over Franky’s shoulder and smiled fondly. “Oh dear God I’ve missed you!” 

She leaned across the space dividing them and placed a firm kiss on Franky’s lips.

**************

Franky was late for a change – if you could call 8.30am late. Franky walked into the _Clayton & Associates_ building, took the lift to the third floor and started down the corridor. 

Lorraine appeared beside her. “You read the Jamal Kittering case?” she asked keenly. 

Franky nodded. 

“The prosecution have the murder weapon, they can build a pretty good case against Noah Boyd if we break his alibi.”

They rounded the corner. 

Franky shook her head. “I know women like Kiah. She’ll do anything – even go to jail - to protect Noah.”

They reached the main office and Franky threw her bag down on her desk.

“She’s facing time and she has two children under the age of 5. She’ll talk – if we handle it right.” Lorraine held the brunette’s eye. “I want you as my second in command. You’ll be there to liaise with Jamal and his mother, compile court documentation, help me prepare Kiah’s cross examination and sit in on all my meetings. Are you on-board, Franky?”

Franky peeled her jacket off and slipped it over the back of her chair. She wanted to accept this assignment more than anything – it’s exactly the kind of case she wanted to be doing. But there’s Bridget to consider. Taking on this case would mean more hours at the office. 

Lorraine picked-up on her hesitation and looked disappointed. “I’ll need an answer by the end of the day.”

Franky nodded.

Lorraine spun on her heel and headed towards her office.

Franky took a seat at her desk and fidgeted, then decided to bite the bullet - she needed to talk to Bridget.

At lunch time she snuck off to the ladies toilets on the fifth floor. She walked into the last stall, forced the window open and sat on the ledge. She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out of the window.

She pulled out her mobile phone and called her girlfriend. 

It rang four times before Gidget answered.

“Hey!” Bridget chirped.

“Hey gorgeous,” Franky automatically smiled (because Bridget always had that effect on her). “What are you up to?”

“The usual. Trying to stop all-out war at _Wentworth_. What about you?”

Franky hesitated.

Bridget sensed it. “What’s up?” she asked tentatively.

“I got offered a great opportunity,” Franky began.

There was a long pause.

“Take it,” Bridget said abruptly.

Franky bit her bottom lip. “It’s longer hours. Are you sure?”

“I don’t want to hold you back,” Bridget stated.

If she were here Franky would have covered her in kisses. She took a deep breath. “I really feel like this is my big break. A chance to do something worthwhile, you know?”

Bridget’s voice became lighter. “I do.”

Franky took a drag of her cigarette and exhaled the smoke out of the window. “Gidge,” she almost whispered. “I won’t forget this.”

“It’s my birthday next week. I’m expecting a gift, one of your homemade Walnut cakes _and_ a romantic night out, minimum.”

Franky snickered. “You got it.”

**************

After her conversation with Bridget, she went in search of Lorraine.

Lorraine’s door was always open. It was a running joke in the office - she was the only partner at _Clayton & Associates_ who wedged her door to keep it permanently open. She liked knowing what was going on in the office and had an uncanny ability to listen in on people’s conversations as well as concentrate on her work.

Franky tapped lightly on the door.

Lorraine looked up. She was seated at her desk, buried in mounds of paper work, glasses balanced perilously on the edge of her nose.

“I want the Kittering case,” Franky said.

Lorraine’s lips quirked into a smile. “You start tomorrow. I’m interviewing Kiah at 9am at _Dame Phyllis Frost Centre_. Be ready to go at 8.30am sharp.”

She returned her attention to her work and Franky knew she’d been dismissed. 

The brunette whirled on her heel, grinning hugely as she walked back to her desk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to everyone who has given feedback on this story. It's muchly appreciated :)

Franky sat in the passenger seat and stifled a yawn. She gazed out of the window and sipped her double espresso; glad of its invigorating strength. The roads were pretty clear this time of the morning. She glanced over at Lorraine, who was driving.

Lorraine wasn’t a fan of small talk and Franky had always been crap at polite conversation, so they were suitable companions. Talking when they felt the need and comfortable in comparative silence.

“Kiah’s not a bad kid. Just fell in with the wrong crowd,” her boss stated.

“Most of the women in jail are there cos they got involved with the wrong guy,” Franky said disdainfully.

They passed a sign for the _Dame Phyllis Frost Centre_ where Kiah was being held on remand.

“She’s got terrible taste. Noah’s a convicted drug dealer and key member of the _Mad Dogz_.”

“He’s the father of her kids,” Franky declared. “She thinks protecting him is the best way to safeguard her family.”

Lorraine nodded. “That’s why I think you’ll be invaluable on this case.”

Franky couldn’t help but feel a warm rush of pleasure; Lorraine’s opinion mattered to her.

“If anyone can reach her it’s you. You’ve lived through it.”

“I’ll try,” Franky vowed. 

“We need her to give him up. The state will prosecute and Jamal Kittering’s mother is planning on suing Noah Boyd for damages – for putting her son in a wheelchair. Jamal was a top notch cricketer apparently – had a place on the junior _Sporting Schools program_. He could’ve gone pro.”

Franky felt her heart grow heavy. This part of the job sucked; encountering people whose lives were ruined and hopes dashed… she got a surge of joy from helping people but she couldn’t give Jamal back the use of his legs. All she could do was make those who had inflicted this damage pay. Noah Boyd needed to pay and the only way to do that was to break Kiah.

“The kids are Kiah’s Achilles Heel,” Franky said. “She might not be protecting Noah out of loyalty but out of fear of what the _Mad Dogz_ will do if she lags.”

They pulled into the car park, gathered their briefcases and headed towards the prison gates.

They were buzzed in and Franky’s pulse spiked – she knew she could leave whenever she wanted but there was something deep-seated in her, a fear of that noise… of the slamming of gates, of the security camera’s trained on them, of the high walls and barbed fences. Her breath came a little faster and her palms felt sweaty.

“You okay?” Lorraine asked, noticing Franky’s pensiveness.

Doyle nodded assuredly. “Never better,” she lied.

She followed Lorraine through the security gate and into Reception. It was light and airy; completely unlike _Wentworth_. The lights were bright; it reminded her of a doctor’s waiting room.  


They approached the desk and signed in.

An overweight prison officer guided them through the maze of corridors to their destination. By the time they were ushered into an interview room, Franky had managed to regain her equilibrium. She had an important task to accomplish today, she couldn’t let Jamal down, couldn’t disappoint Lorraine and wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she fucked this up.

Already seated at the table, Kiah glanced up when they entered. She was petite, had a mousey brown bob and a knife scar on her neck. She looked smaller than her picture. Vulnerable.  


Lorraine pulled back a chair that squeaked against the newly polished floor and sat opposite Kiah, Franky followed her lead. 

Lorraine folded her hands on the table in front of her; she had a natural presence; an air of astuteness and trustworthiness that made clients respond to her.

“Hi Kiah, I’m Lorraine Wilson from _Clayton & Associates_. I work for the legal counsel prosecuting Noah Boyd.” She indicated Franky. “This if Francesca Doyle, she’s assisting me on this case.”

“Call me Franky,” Doyle interjected.

Kiah looked at her vaguely, like she wasn’t taking any of this in.

Lorraine pulled a file out of her briefcase and flipped it open. A pen poised in her hand. “You’re on remand, charged with carrying an unlicensed weapon, criminal possession of a weapon and withholding evidence. Do you understand what’s happening?”

Kiah nodded. Her eyes seemed to clear slightly. “It’s not my gun,” she blurted.

“How did the gun come into your possession?” Lorraine enquired.

Kiah shrugged.

“Who were you holding it for?” Lorraine pressed.

“I didn’t even know it was there.”

Lorraine and Franky exchanged a look.

Lorraine scrawled a note, it seemed excessively loud in the quietness of the room; there was no other noise but the hum of the lights.

“Who had access to your car?”

Kiah shrugged again.

Lorraine held her gaze, her expression steely. “Well if you didn’t put it there – somebody did. So who had access to your car?”

Kiah looked away, feigning disinterest.

Slowly Lorraine made another note. Deliberately scratching the pen across the paper as she wrote. Kiah’s eyes widened, as if she’d somehow given away some vital piece of information. She bit her lip and tugged agitatedly at her sleeve.

Lorraine looked up and met her eyes. “Did Noah Boyd have access to your car?”

Kiah gave a quick nod.

Lorraine began to make another note. Kiah leaned forward in her chair – her palm slammed down on the table as she glared at Lorraine. “You’re trying to frame him but it won’t work. Anyone could’ve planted it! Everyone in the neighbourhood knew it was my car.”

“The car showed no signs of being broken into,” Lorraine countered.

Kiah looked helpless. “He was with me all night – he couldn’t have done it.”

Pursing her lips, Lorraine stared at Kiah for a long tense moment and then scrawled another note.

“I tell ya – he was with me,” Kiah snapped.

“It’s in your interest to give him an alibi, excuse me if we don’t take your word for it.”

Kiah looked incensed.

Franky leaned forward, knowing she had to defuse the tension. “I know you think protecting Noah is the right thing to do but it’s not.” She had Kiah’s complete attention. “Your kids – that’s what’s important. They’re what really matter. Not Noah. Do you think they want their Mum behind bars or at home, raising them?”

Kiah remained silent. The vacant look returned.

“You said Noah was with you at the time of the shooting, that you were at home watching TV.”

“Yes.”

Lorraine narrowed her eyes. “What did you watch?”

Kiah looked puzzled. “What’s that got to do with - ”

“Surely you remember what you watched?”

Kiah shrugged. “Some cop show… yeah – Law & Order: SVU.”

“The new series?” Lorraine pressed.

“Yeah.”

“I love that show. Not the same since Stabler left though.”

“No,” Kiah almost smiled, seeming relieved.

“The new series doesn’t start till 9pm,” Lorraine said sharply.

Kiah tensed. “Must have been a repeat then.”

“Are you sure he was with you at 5.46pm? Are you sure he didn’t go out?”

“Yes,” she said meekly.

“How do you know what time it was?”

“What?” Kiah’s brow furrowed.

“How did you know Noah was at home with you at 5.46pm on the day of the shooting. How did you know the exact time?”

Kiah took a deep breath, her eyes darted about the room, as if seeking an escape. “It was a Friday. I always get the food shopping on a Friday, cos that’s when I get paid. When I got home he helped me unpack and we sat in front of the TV for the rest of the night. He didn’t leave.”

“I think he did,” Lorraine said with conviction. “I think he shot Riley Martinez and Jamal Kittering and you’re lying to protect him.”

Kiah’s eyes became wild - she fidgeted – but remained silent.

Lorraine glanced at Franky, clearly frustrated.

Franky tried a new tack. “You’ve got beautiful kids.”

Kiah’s gaze shifted from Lorraine to Franky and she glared. “Leave them out of this.”

Franky held her gaze, not looking away. “Has Noah brought the kids in to see you?”

Kiah gulped back a lump in her throat, tears springing to her eyes. 

Franky nodded knowingly. “We know you didn’t do anything wrong Kiah. You shouldn’t be here. You should be at home with your kids.”

“They’re with their Dad.”

“Who let you go to jail. Who’s letting you rot in here for something you didn’t do while he’s free. If he really loved you, then why doesn’t he tell the police what really happened? Why doesn’t he protect you?”

Kiah looked away, struggling to not let her emotions show.

“You’re looking at a 10 year stretch. Is it worth it?”

Lorraine handed Franky a slip of paper. Franky quickly skimmed it.

“The authorities have offered you a deal. They’ll drop all charges in exchange for you testifying against Noah.”

“I ain’t doing that!” Kiah sneered. “You won’t use me to put him away!”

“He killed a man,” Lorraine pointed out.

“Martinez got what was coming to him. He was an arrogant prick full of bullshit.”

“And what about Jamal Kittering?” Franky said softly. “Did he deserve it too? Did he deserve never to walk again? To have his future snatched away?”

Kiah looked into Franky’s eyes and wavered. Franky could see the regret and empathy there.

“He played cricket for his school. Had a place on the junior _Sporting Schools_ program. He could’ve gone pro. Could’ve been the greatest cricketer this country’s ever had. But we’ll never know now, will we?”

Overcome, Kiah bowed her head. “That shouldn’t have happened,” she mumbled. “It was an accident.”

“Except it wasn’t. Noah only cared about getting Martinez and didn’t give a fuck about who got hurt in the crossfire. Is that who you want raising your kids?”

Kiah closed her eyes.

Franky could see she’d hit a chord and pushed harder. “The way I see it, you have two choices. One – you sign the deal, let the real murderer of Riley Martinez be punished and return home to your kids. Two – you stay here and rot while your kids grow-up without you and think violence and jail time are just a part of life and repeat your mistakes. Do you want your kids to follow in your shoes?”

Kiah opened her eyes and exhaled through her nose.

Franky pushed the paper across the table and held out a pen.

Kiah blinked, tears rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound or make a move to take the pen offered.

“Marnie starts school tomorrow, doesn’t she?” Franky pushed.

Kiah seemed surprised. “How did you…”

Lorraine bit her lip, her heart pounding at how close Franky was to sealing the deal.

“And where will you be? Stuck in this shithole, missing it. Think of all the other things you’ll miss. What other big moments in her life? It’s your job to raise her, to teach her right from wrong. It doesn’t have to play out like this. You can change it. Sign the paper. Do it for her. Do it for Eric, he’s just a baby… he needs you. They both do.”

Silently, Kiah took the pen. She fought back a sob as she signed her name. 

Lorraine held back her triumphant grin; now was not the time to preen.

**************

Back at the office, at lunch time, Franky slinked off to the ladies on the fifth floor and hid in her usual stall. She balanced on the window ledge as she puffed away on her cigarette and dialled Gidget. 

“Guess which genius got a break in the case?”

“You?” Bridget hazarded.

“You’re not just a pretty face, Gidge.”

Westfall laughed. “Well done.”

“I’ll be home late – we have to file a motion with the courts and I have to make sure the paperwork’s in order.”

“What time should I expect you?” 

“Past 10pm probably.”

“That sucks.”

Franky smirked. “If you’re missing me that much we could always give phone sex a go.”

There was a pause, then Bridget said shyly. “You know, sometimes I don’t think you’re joking.”

“Come on Gidge. Variety is the spice of life - isn’t that the inspirational crap you usually spout?”

“Franky - ”

“Where are you?”

“My office.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Franky lowered her voice. “What are you wearing?”

Bridget snorted. “Forget it! I’m not doing it. Someone could walk in at any - ”

“You wearing that tight navy blue number? The one you know drives me wild. With the low-cut neck that exposes a little more cleavage than is decent and perfectly cups your pert little - ”  


“Franky!” Bridget warned and even though Doyle couldn’t see her, she could tell Bridget was blushing.

“You’re no fun!” the brunette teased.

“I’m going to order takeaway tonight,” Bridget steered the conversation back to safe ground. “What do you fancy? Indian or Chinese?”

“Chinese – just don’t get it from _Bashan_ again. Their noodles are greasy and the pak choi was limp.”

“I’ll order you peking dumplings from _Tao Toa Ju_.”

“You know me so well.” Franky grinned. “You know what else I like?”

“What?”

“You in that heart-stopping, seriously hot _Bluebella_ lingerie. With the sheer mesh I like to scrape my fingernails down and the open back that allows me to run my tongue across your skin… just the way you like. The delicate bow that sits between your luscious breasts that I squeeze as I kiss you softly… and the thong that disappears between your perfect…”  


Bridget made a noise that sounded like a frustrated moan. 

Franky dropped her voice lower. “And those suspenders… I love sliding my hands up the backs of your thighs, unhooking the straps and - ”

“I’ve got to go,” Bridget said breathlessly. “See you tonight.”

“…pulling them down with my teeth - ”

“Bye.”

Bridget hung up and Franky grinned at her phone. 

She took another drag of her cigarette and chuckled to herself, wondering if she’d worked Gidge up enough to keep her hot and bothered all day.

**************

When she got home, the house was dark apart from the hallway light. 

Franky set down her briefcase and slipped out of her jacket. She found the takeaway cartons on the table. Hungrily she heaped a pile of food onto a plate and thrust it in the microwave.  


When it was heated through she wolfed it down, put the plate in the sink and moved towards the bedroom.

Bridget was lying on her side, eyes opened when Franky switched on the bedside lamp. 

She smiled sleepily. “Thought I heard you clunking about. You’ve got as much grace as an elephant!”

Franky bent down and placed a soft kiss on Bridget’s lips. “You know how that sweet talk turns me on Gidge.”

Bridget grinned and playfully swatted Franky away.

Franky stepped out of her shoes and began to strip. Bridget watched her girlfriend with concern; Franky had lost weight and wasn’t sleeping much… this job was a blessing and curse in equal measure. 

“Did you eat?” the blonde asked.

Franky nodded. “Yes Mum.”

Bridget shot her a sharp look.

Franky slipped a T-shirt over her head and caught the glare. In apology, she kissed Bridget again, more tenderly. 

When she drew back, Bridget cupped her face. “I worry about you,” the psychologist said quietly.

“I know,” Franky gripped Bridget’s arms, squeezing reassuringly. “This won’t be forever… besides, we’ve got all of Sunday together.”

Bridget’s thumbs stroked Franky’s cheeks and she nodded. 

Franky disappeared into the bathroom, she tied her hair back and brushed her teeth. 

Bridget sank further into the mattress and closed her eyes again, suddenly feeling tired. She always tried to wait for Franky to get in; she hated falling asleep without her.  


Franky removed her make-up and returned to the bedroom. She turned the lamp off and slipped in beside Bridget. 

In the dark they moved towards each other, meeting in the middle. They wrapped arms and legs around each other. Settling in a comfortable mess of limbs. Bridget pressed her head against Franky’s chest and breathed her in. Franky nuzzled the top of Gidge’s head and sighed contentedly. They soon drifted off.

**************

Franky sat at her desk, scribbling notes as she studied the Kittering file. She was re-reading it for the millionth time - trying to find a hidden clue or missed piece of information. Something was niggling at her. Something she’d missed.

Terry, who’d started at _Clayton & Associates_ the same time as Franky and had the desk opposite, placed a cup of coffee in front of her. Franky smiled gratefully at him as he retreated to his desk.

She leaned back in her chair and stretched the kinks out of her spine – grateful for the interruption. She picked-up the coffee cup, breathed in the welcoming scent and took a sip. She lived on caffeine now; sometimes it was the only thing that got her through the early mornings and late nights.

She savoured the bitter flavour and relaxed. Her eyes fell onto the open page in front of her and that’s when she saw it. Franky nearly knocked over her coffee mug in her hurry to snatch-up the file. She leapt up from her desk and rushed towards Lorraine’s office.

Lorraine was typing furiously on her lap top when Franky charged in.

“Jamal saw the shooter,” Franky announced.

Lorraine’s head snapped up, her left eyebrow raised questioningly. “What?”

“In Jamal’s statement he says the car came round the corner of Lealand and opened fire.”

“So?”

“So on the day of the shooting there were roadworks due to a burst water pipe, which means that anyone driving down Lealand Street would have been diverted to the right hand-side of the road. That’s a sharp turn onto Southbank Avenue - the only way the shooter could’ve got a clean shot at Riley from that angle is if he leaned out of the window.”  


Lorraine’s eyes widened. 

“Jamal saw Noah Boyd,” Franky concluded.

Lorraine exhaled. “Shit.”

Franky grinned broadly.

“He never said a word. Poor kid must’ve been terrified of testifying against him.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Franky retorted. 

Lorraine reached for her phone. “Good work Franky.” She dialled the number for _The Child Witness Service_ and pressed her mobile to her ear as it rang; she needed advice before tackling Jamal and his mother. “Be ready to go in 15.”

**************

Westfall circled the class, glancing over the shoulders of the women and studying their easels – offering words of praise and encouragement as she went.

Vera had implemented a series of classes Bridget had suggested, one of the most popular being Art Therapy.

The class was run by Janis Patras, a former patient of Bridget’s. It was one of those rare instances of the stars aligning – Vera had agreed, the board had agreed and Janis had the time to offer.  


Kim Chang was in a corner. She was quiet, withdrawn. Bridget could tell the girl was messed-up on something. She’d watched Chang deteriorate over the last few months and sadly, given the girls hostility towards her over Franky, wouldn’t let Bridget help her.

She seemed anxious and had lost weight, her eyes were often dilated and she was frequently dishevelled looking. 

Bridget hovered close to Chang. “That’s great, Kim.”

Chang looked momentarily pleased… then seemed to hear some invisible voice and became agitated. Her breathing speeded up.

Bridget stepped away, giving the girl space. The last thing she wanted was to make Chang uncomfortable or to chase her away from a class that might benefit her.  


As Bridget talked to Liz about her watercolour of a river near where she grew-up – the whole class was disrupted. 

“Get off!” Kim yelled - panicked.

The class turned to see Chang kicking over her easel as she moved frantically in circles, savagely whacking her arms and muttering about insects crawling under her skin.  


“Can’t you see them?” Kim shouted. 

A couple of the women snickered in amusement but most were too weirded out to react. Janis looked at Bridget, unsure what to do.

Westfall moved cautiously towards Chang. “Kim,” she said soothingly. “There’s nothing on you. There are no insects. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Chang whirled around to face Bridget – her eyes wild and her body movements jerky. “Liar! You’re a fucking liar. Stay the fuck away from me… I know what you’re up to – you took Franky away and now you’re trying to drive me crazy!” she glared accusingly at Bridget.

Bridget felt the other women grow tense.

Chang suddenly lashed out – knocking over a shelf and throwing paint pots about the room – screaming that they were all “in on it”.

Bridget hit the emergency button.

Kim picked up her pear painting and smashed the canvas against a table; it splintered and she hurled the shards at Bridget, who managed to duck out of the way unscathed.  


Three seconds later several burley guards rushed in. They overpowered Chang and carted her off to solitary. She didn’t go quietly – she screamed and struggled, calling Westfall a treacherous bitch and a series of other colourful names.

When the door behind them closed, something in Bridget felt hollow.

**************  


Franky sat across from Mrs. Kittering. They were in her living room and Franky studied a photo of Jamal on the mantelpiece. He was wearing cricket whites and posing with a bat; a huge grin on his face.

“My boy did nothing. He was walking home. Minding his own business.”

“I know,” Lorraine said sympathetically.

“He’s lucky to be alive. Don’t make him testify. The _Mad Dogz_ will kill him.”

Franky shook her head vigorously. “Jamal is a minor. We can protect him.”

Nodding, Lorraine added. “We’ll give you and Jamal appropriate preparation and support. We’ll work with the Director of Public Prosecutions to ensure you’re kept informed about the progress of Noah’s case and help Jamal prepare a victim impact statement.”

“I’ll prep him myself,” Franky volunteered. 

“He may not even have to appear in court – it depends on the evidence the prosecution wishes to use.” Lorraine said, then quickly added. “He may be able to give evidence to the judge and jury directly - without Noah being in the room. Or we can organise for him to give video recorded evidence so he doesn’t have to be in the court room at all.”  


Mrs. Kittering blinked. She was a strong woman but she was so tied-up she didn’t know which way to turn.

“I know this is scary Mrs. Kittering but Noah Boyd needs to pay for what he did – to your boy and Riley Martinez. No one but Jamal can put him at the scene of the crime - it’s all circumstantial without his testimony.”

Mrs. Kittering’s bottom lip quivered and she held back tears. “They destroyed his life.”

Franky nodded sympathetically. “If we identify Noah Boyd as the shooter you can pursue a civil action case against him and get compensation from the injuries Jamal sustained as a result of the crime.”

Mrs. Kittering’s eyes betrayed her and Franky’s heart clenched.

Franky leaned forward. “Imagine what you could do with that money? A fresh start. A new house, a new town, a new life. Jamal deserves a second chance and so do you. This is it – grab it.”

Mrs. Kittering nodded. 

“Jamal,” she called shakily.

A few moments later Jamal wheeled himself into the room.

Now 15 and still growing, he smiled politely at Franky and Lorraine. 

There was something different from the pictures she’d seen; the light in his eyes was dead. There was no joy anymore. Franky’s stomach dropped and she felt a surge of righteous anger – she wanted justice for this boy. Wanted to get Noah Boyd so badly she could taste it.

**************  


Bridget was the first home, as usual. 

It was gone 8pm and she’d stayed late to have a drink with Vera who was very concerned when she’d heard about the Kim Chang incident. It had been a relief to share the burden with someone.  


Bridget likes their after-hour chats. She thinks Vera has a lot of potential as Governor – if she only had the confidence to see it. 

Tonight they’d discussed Chang and her little episode and how to stop drugs getting into _Wentworth_ in the first place.

Bridget headed straight for the fridge and poured a large glass of white wine. Sometimes she worried that _Wentworth_ was turning her into an alcoholic.

She sat at the kitchen table and sipped, lost in thought.

Half an hour later Franky burst through the door. Her eyes lit-up when they landed on Bridget.

“Hey Spunky!” she greeted and gave Bridget a quick, jubilantly kiss before taking the wine glass from her hand and taking a sip.

“Good day?” Bridget guessed.

Franky nodded and handed the glass back to her girlfriend. “The best! We broke the case. Gidge it was amazing! Lorraine’s been a great mentor - showing me the ropes without any BS. It’s like every fucking Christmas has come at once!”  


The blonde beamed. “That’s wonderful.”

Franky shrugged out of her jacket and placed it across the back of a chair. “I’m finally going places!” 

The brunette placed her hands on Bridget’s knees and leaned in for another kiss. Longer and more sensuous this time. They drew back and pressed their foreheads together.

“I had a mad day too - ” Bridget began.

Franky pulled away and headed towards the bathroom, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. “Yeah? I wanna hear all about it. I’m just gonna hop in the bath first.”  


Doyle vanished into the bathroom and Bridget heard the sound of running water. 

Bridget slipped off the kitchen stool and headed towards the bathroom, still clinging tightly to her wine glass. She leant against the doorframe and watched Franky undress and slip into the folds of steaming hot water.

Bridget took a breath. “Something happened in - ”

“Guess what Lorraine said as I was leaving?” Franky interrupted excitedly, off in her own world.

Bridget tilted her head. “What?”

“ _You have a great work ethic and natural talent for this kind of work. I see a bright future ahead,_ ” Franky grinned and reached for a sponge. “She’s a partner - she has a lot of sway. Even if I don’t stay on at _Clayton & Associates_ Lorraine has a lot of contacts - a recommendation from her and a shit load of doors could open.”  


Bridget smiled genuinely. “That’s fantastic babe.”

“It’s fucking ace,” Franky exclaimed. 

The brunette lathered-up the sponge and began washing the grime from her skin.

Bridget stepped into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. 

She sipped her wine and let her eyes skim idly over Franky’s form. “Kim Chang had a bit of a melt-down today,” she declared. 

“Really?” Franky said absently.

Bridget nodded but Franky wasn’t looking at her.

“Yeah, it was awf - ”

“Pass the shampoo will ya? This bottle’s run out.”

Franky aimed for the bin by the sink and threw the empty bottle. It hit its target with a clang. Franky mimed a crowd cheering her throw.

Fetching a new shampoo bottle from the cabinet, Bridget handed it to Franky and tried again. “In Art Therapy class she - ”

Franky dunked her head under the water, then sat up and lathered her head. Her fingers scrubbed furiously at her scalp. She dipped her head again and rinsed off the shampoo.  


Bridget folded her arms and waited until Doyle surfaced. 

When she did, Bridget persevered. “In Art Therapy she - ”

“What is ‘Art Therapy’ anyway? Sounds hippy drippy. One of your throw-back leftie ideas from the 70’s Gidge?”

Bridget sucked in a breath. “The creative process of artistic self-expression helps people to resolve conflicts and problems, develop interpersonal skills, manage behaviour, reduce stress, increase self-esteem and self-awareness.”

“Sounds like a load of bull,” Franky joked.

Bridget bit her tongue. She wasn’t in the mood for Franky’s antics tonight. It had been a shitty day. 

She moved towards the door. “I’m going to bed.”

Franky smiled, pouring conditioner onto her hands. “I’ll join you in a tick.”

Bridget turned and walked out of the bathroom, her shoulders slouched.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and they were at the ICAA cinema for the matinee of _Manhandled_ , part of the silent movie season. It was the first opportunity they’d had to spend any quality time together for two weeks; Franky had worked last Saturday and Bridget had covered the weekend shift at _Wentworth_ the week before. 

It was unallocated seating so Bridget went to claim their seats while Franky queued for treats. As Franky scooped-up her spoils and moved into the screening room she realised, on reflection, that she’d overdone it (clearly overcompensating). She’d bought two giant sized soda’s (each the size of a bucket), the biggest box of toffee popcorn they had (also bucket-sized) and an enormous packet of _Maltesers_ – Gidge’s favourite.

As Franky sat down beside her girlfriend and offered her the treats, Bridget quirked an eyebrow and smiled sweetly at her. “You trying to fatten me up or give me a heart attack?” she joked.  


“I’ll eat them then,” Franky teased and went to take back the goodies.

Bridget playfully jostled with her, hanging onto the treats. “No! I’m sure I can manage,” she said and laughed softly.

Franky settled into her seat. They were in the fifth row, it was pretty crowded and had a pleasant, lively atmosphere. 

A young woman in a floral summer dress strode towards the front of the room and introduced herself as the musician playing live accompaniment. The audience applauded, she gave a brief bow and then took her seat at the piano to the side of the screen.

They were plunged into darkness and a hush fell over the audience. The opening credits rolled and the pianist’s fingers flew nimbly over the piano keys.

Franky had never seen a Gloria Swanson movie before but she had to admit the woman had presence. Her mind was still ticking-over the details of the Kittering case so she wasn’t really following the plot but she was happy to sit back, let it wash over her and admire Gloria Swanson’s eyes.

Bridget reached out and clasped Franky’s hand. Their fingers laced. Franky looked over at Gidge, the glow from the cinema screen lighting-up her face, and they exchanged a smile. Franky found herself relaxing. She was here with Gidge and that’s all that mattered.

Throughout the film Franky stole furtive glances in Bridget’s direction to see her utterly rapt in the movie. Franky grinned like a fool but she didn’t care. She’d never been in love like this before, so wholeheartedly and trustingly. She studied Bridget’s profile in the flickering light. Her slender neck, her distinguished nose, her glorious hair sleeked back into a ponytail. 

Something amusing happened onscreen and Bridget’s mouth turned up into a delighted smile, deepening the slight wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She was sexy as hell and Franky didn’t know what she’d done to deserve Bridget.

The whole audience laughed as a slapstick subway scene unfolded on the big screen. Franky noted with fascination Bridget’s pure laugh that tinkled in the air and sent a shiver down her spine. Gidge’s blue eyes danced with mirth… she was disarmingly beautiful and Franky kept being awed by it.

Suddenly Bridget turned to her, eyes shining, and Franky’s breath caught. No matter how long they were together she’d never get used to Bridget looking at her like that.

When they came out of the cinema, their eyes adjusting to the sunlight, Doyle slipped her arm across Bridget’s shoulders and the blonde leaned into her, winding her arm around Franky’s waist. She kissed Gidget’s temple affectionately as they walked down the street.

“I really enjoyed today, we should do it more often,” the psychologist said gently.

It’s not meant as a recrimination but Franky felt a sting all the same. She held Bridget tighter. “You’re the most important thing to me, you know that right?” she whispered. 

Bridget shivered and looked like she was suppressing… something… then she tugged away from Franky’s embrace. “Let’s get some ice cream,” she suggested cheerily and grabbed Doyle’s hand, dragging her toward the nearest ice cream parlour. 

While Bridget spent several minutes picking out three flavours for her ice cream scoops, Franky’s mind began to wonder… distracted and worried about what the _Mad Dogz_ might do once they found out Kiah was giving testimony against Noah and whether she could prep Jamal in time.

“Earth calling Franky,” Bridget’s voice cut through her ruminations.

“Hm?” Franky murmured, her eyes focusing on Bridget.

“You were a million miles away.”

Franky watched Bridget lick her ice cream and grinned. 

“What do you want to do now?” the blonde asked.

Franky smirked and took a step closer to Bridget, she grabbed her by the hips and pulled her in for a heated kiss, then murmured against her lips. “I want to do you.”

A blush ran up Bridget’s neck and coloured her cheeks. She gazed at Franky through hooded eyes and opened her mouth - ready with a sassy retort - but was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. She looked apologetically at Franky and plucked it out of her pocket. She glanced at the display; it was Vera Bennett.

“I’ve got to take this,” Bridget said. She handed Franky her ice cream cone and held the phone to her ear. “Hi Vera.”

A few moments later Bridget was rushing down the street on her way to _Wentworth_ to help with an emergency situation while Franky stood on the pavement holding a melting ice-cream. 

Exasperated at having their day ruined, Franky felt resentment build-up from her gut but she had no right to it, no right to hold this against Gidge. After all Franky was always putting work first, wasn’t she – so she couldn’t very well accuse Bridget of prioritising work over her, now could she? That would make her a hypocrite and Franky hated hypocrites.  


Sulkily she licked the ice cream and headed home alone. 

***********

When Bridget arrived at _Wentworth_ Vera was waiting for her in reception. 

“Sorry to disrupt your weekend,” Vera apologised as Bridget signed in.

The guard buzzed them in and they stepped through the first set of security gates.

“What happened?” Bridget asked.

“Block B were in the yard for rec when Milla launched an unprovoked attack on Jan. Milla used a shiv to repeatedly slash her.” Vera explained. “Jan’s been transferred to the hospital wing for medical treatment.”

Bridget’s eyes widened. “And the baby?”

Vera’s brow furrowed in concern. “We don’t know yet. She’s being checked over by Doctor Forrester but Milla didn’t know she was pregnant – none of the women do. All the slashes were to her face. Her hands and forearms were only cut when she raised them to protect herself.”

“Jesus,” Bridget muttered.

Vera tried to keep her voice steady, days like this really got to her. The sheer pointless violence made her despair and want to bang her head against a wall. “I’ll update you as soon as the Doctor gets back to me.”

“Thanks,” Bridget murmured as they passed through another set of gates. 

The psychologist’s brain was racing. What on earth had possessed Milla to attack Jan and risk doing more time? Milla was serving a 6 year sentence for carjacking a woman at knifepoint and then leading police on a 100 mph pursuit down the M80. Since coming to _Wentworth_ she had been reprimanded for attacking a woman in her unit and a guard but nothing this vicious. “Did Milla say why she’d done it?”

Vera shook her head; as far as she was concerned there was no excuse for such savagery. “Milla’s been slotted and remains… uncommunicative.” That was the polite word for it, anyway.

Vera unlocked a gate and let Bridget through first, then followed. “Milla’s going to have another two years added to her sentence at least - for possessing a bladed article. Maybe more depending on the severity of Jan’s injuries.” 

She locked the gate behind them.

“I’m not condoning what she did but there’s always a reason, Milla’s past behaviour indicates - ” Bridget began.

Vera’s jaw tensed and her shoulders stiffened. “I have a zero tolerance policy towards violence committed against inmates and staff at _Wentworth_. I’m not going to start bending the rules now,” she reproved.

Bridget nodded her understanding. “I know.”

This seemed to deflate Vera, whose shoulders drooped and her mouth slackened. Her gaze was almost apologetic; she hated butting heads with Bridget, whom she considered a true ally. “She asked for you,” Vera revealed. “Said she wouldn’t talk to anyone else.”

The blonde tilted her head as her mind backtracked through her last session with Milla. “We hit a break through last week – well, I thought we had,” she confessed.

Vera smiled sympathetically. “See if you can get her to open up so we can sort this mess out as quickly as possible.”

Westfall nodded.

***********

When Bridget got home Franky was crashed out in their bed; dead to the world. 

Shattered after the high drama at _Wentworth_ and feeling a little despondent at the state of the world, Bridget dressed for bed and gratefully pulled back the sheets. She crawled in beside Franky and nestled against her lover’s warm body, draping her arm around Franky’s waist and pressing her face against the brunette’s back. She felt the gentle rise and fall of Franky’s chest, heard her soft breathing and instantly felt safe. Bridget closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

***********

At 7am Franky’s mobile phone rang. She fumbled for it on the nightstand and groggily glared at the caller ID. It was Lorraine. She propped herself up on her elbow and pressed the ‘answer’ button.

“What’s up?” she asked, unable to disguise the sleepiness in her voice.

“The police have just raided Noah’s house,” Lorraine informed her, a note of urgency in her voice.

Franky sat up. “Shit.”

“Noah wasn’t there so they raided the garage he owns on Olinda Street. Only he wasn’t there either.”

Gidge stirred beside her and Franky crept out of bed and moved into the living room, closing the bedroom door so as not to disturb Bridget.

“Someone tipped him off,” Franky guessed.

“I need you to come in now.”

“Sure. I’ll be twenty minutes tops.”

“Great - and bring coffee. The machine in the office is broken,” Lorraine ordered, then hung-up. 

Still disorientated, Franky stumbled back into the bedroom, grabbed some clothes and tried her best to be quiet. 

In the bathroom she hastily brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair, dabbed a bit of concealer under her eyes and donned some eyeliner, then headed out the door wondering which coffee shop would have the shortest queue.

**********

When Bridget woke up Franky was already gone and there was no birthday card, no present, no cake and no sign that she had remembered.

Bridget decided not to jump to conclusions. She’d wait until tonight. Franky was prone to big gestures. So she got ready for work filled with hopeful anticipation and a buoyant smile on her face.

**********

Lorraine met Franky as soon as she entered the office and Franky handed her boss the half-fat Americano she always had. Lorraine took it and sipped the beverage as she indicated for Franky to follow her. As they walked through the corridors, side-by-side, she filled Franky in. “The police executed three search warrants this morning — of Noah’s house, business and the _Mad Dogz_ clubhouse.”

“Did they find anything?”

“Yes, in Noah’s garage they found drugs and weapons. They’re still searching the clubhouse.”

Franky grinned. “That’s great, that mean’s we’ve got him.”

“If they find him,” Lorraine countered.

Franky scowled. “They will.”

“I have a friend in the police department - this info hasn’t been released yet but at Noah’s garage they seized $25,000 cash, 20 MDMA pills, amphetamines, cannabis, two machetes, a homemade firearm, ammunition, pepper spray and a stun gun.”

“Shit!” Franky exclaimed.

“Four people have been charged over the haul — including a patched _Mad Dogz_ member.”

“When they catch Noah?”

“He’ll be charged with three drug possession charges, smoking implements, possessing a prohibited weapon and unlicensed ammunition.”

“That’s more than we could have hoped for,” Franky said.

Lorraine nodded. “We can offer him a deal – if he confesses to the murder of Riley Martinez he’ll get a reduced sentence.”

Franky felt excited. She was hungry for this - ready to work her arse off and ready to prove herself. She rolled up her sleeves. “Where do you want me to start?”

Lorraine flashed a rare smile; pleased by Franky’s eagerness.

**********

Bridget bounded through the day in a good mood. Colleagues wished her a happy birthday, she got a load of cards from family, friends, a couple of the inmates and Vera had thoughtfully bought her a cake.

She visited Jan in the hospital ward (so far so good – the wounds were flesh deep, they would leave scarring but the baby was fine. She’d remain under observation for the next few days just to be safe) and Milla in the slot (still not willing to confess her motive for the attack other than to call Jan “that dirty lagger” and give Bridget the run-around). 

There was a small gathering in the staff room at lunch time. They cut the cake and there were a couple of speeches and while Bridget enjoyed herself, she could barely wait to go home. She just wanted to cocoon herself in a world of her and Franky.

Her last appointment was at 4.30pm and there was a budget meeting at 5.30pm but Vera let her skip out early. 

Excitedly Bridget rushed home to an empty house. Everything was exactly as she’d left it this morning. They’d agreed to be back by 6pm at the latest. She glanced at the clock - it was still only 5.47pm but Bridget felt her stomach sink. 

She reached for her phone and called Franky - it went straight to voicemail.

**********

Franky worked flat out all day. Fielding calls, sending emails, researching, writing briefs, filing court documentation, getting updates from the police for Lorraine and updating the _Clayton & Associates_ database. It just didn’t stop.

Franky was running on adrenalin, wired by lack of sleep and an excess of caffeine. But she felt great – it was rewarding work and she was being stretched, using all of her abilities. It was glorious.

**********

Bridget sat at the kitchen table. She glanced at the clock again. Then her watch. They both said the same; Franky was four hours late. 

She reached for her mobile and rang again but got no answer. She hung up. She’d already left two voice messages and several texts – becoming increasingly worried and annoyed – but had heard nothing back.

She suddenly felt overdressed; she’d got spruced up in her slinky turquoise dress with a daring slit up to her thigh - Franky’s favourite (the one she never usually had on for more than five minutes before Franky stripped her out of it) and matching drop earrings that Franky had bought as a present with her first pay cheque.

The table was set for a romantic dinner for two and she had almost polished off the fancy bottle of wine they’d been saving for a special occasion. 

Bridget realised the soft music she had playing in the background had stopped and stood to change the CD. As she did so, she passed a mirror. She caught sight of herself and suddenly felt old. Old and unwanted. 

Franky was younger than her, more vivacious. Had she gotten bored? Did she feel tied down? She’d always been wild, maybe domesticity and monogamy weren’t what she wanted. Maybe she was unconsciously trying to distance herself from Bridget, from their relationship.

Bridget switched CD’s, her finger hovered over the play button but she changed her mind and turned off the stereo instead. She moved towards the bedroom, flicking the lights off as she went.

**********

Franky hadn’t looked-up from her desk since lunch time. Buried in file notes and court documents she suddenly noticed the office was dark and silent. 

She reached for her phone and realised that when she’d plugged it in this arvo to charge, she hadn’t switched the mains on. The battery was dead. Sighing in annoyance at her own stupidity, she flipped the mains on and her phone began to charge. She hoped she hadn’t missed any important calls, then glanced at the clock on the wall. She was shocked to see it was 10:36pm. Where had the time gone?

As soon as her phone surged back to life, it chimed urgently and her eyes darted to the display: 6 missed calls, 2 voice messages, 4 texts. All from Bridget.

_Shit._

Franky stood, gathered her belongings and hurried out of the office.

**********

Franky struggled through the front door with an armful of files. She switched a light on and saw the table; set for two, candles and their fancy wineglasses. She glanced up and noticed the Birthday cards on the mantelpiece and her heart sank. _Double shit._ She closed her eyes; how could she have forgotten Bridget’s birthday?

Everything between them was already tentative and now she’d fucked up again.

She set her files down on the table and moved toward the bedroom. Cautiously she pushed the door open.

Bridget lay in bed. Franky couldn’t see her clearly but she could tell the blonde was still awake.

“Sorry,” she whispered into the darkness.

Bridget reached out and switched on the bedside lamp. She sat up, pulling the sheet protectively around her.

They studied each other wearily. 

Bridget knew Franky was sincere but she’d had enough. Her patience was past its limit. “Where were you?” she asked quietly; but it was a dangerous tone.

Franky moved to stand at the end of the bed. “We had a major breakthrough on the case today and - ”

Bridget held up her hand and Franky fell silent. She held the brunette’s gaze and took a deep breathe. “We can do something another time,” Gidget offered.

Bridget looked so fragile in that moment that Franky hated herself violently. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t quite to understanding,” Doyle confessed.

“You’d rather I shout and throw things at you?” Bridget asked.

“Well – not at me – just in my general vicinity.”

Bridget stared at her incredulously, a quiet fury flared-up in her eyes. “I’m sorry my patience and understanding is so repugnant to you!”

“It’s not that, it’s just… don’t you feel angry?”

“Yes!”

“Then show it Gidge – you’re allowed to show it! I fucked up and you’re allowed to be angry.”

Bridget’s blue eyes clouded over. “Thank you for giving me permission to express my feelings!” she retorted snarkily.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“You know what, I don’t think I am angry. I’m just… hurt,” her voice wavered and her eyes grew big with unshed tears. “Aren’t I worth remembering? Do I slip your mind so easily?”

Overwhelmed with the urge to comfort and reassure, Franky rushed forward and cupped Bridget’s face. “No. You’re fucking awesome Gidge. The best. I’m just not used to… I’ve always put myself first, never had to juggle anything. But I’ll adjust… we’ll find a way to make this work. I swear.”

“Is this our cycle now?” Bridget asked. “I wait. You stuff up, apologise and we start it all over again?”

Franky placed a gentle kiss on Bridget’s lips and stroked her thumbs across Bridget’s cheeks. “No. We’re going to break it right now.”

Franky took a step back and started to undress. 

Bridget watched her intently and leaned back against her pillow. “What are you doing?”

“I know it’s been a while Gidge but surely you remember?”

Against her will, the blonde smiled. A faint, delicate smile.

Swiftly unbuttoning her blouse and shrugging out of it, Franky tossed it to the floor and declared; “It’s _Australia Day_ tomorrow and we’re not leaving this room. No work. No phones. No emails. No outside world. Just us.”

“One day’s not going to fix anything,” Bridget pointed out.

“Yeah but it’s a start,” Franky said softly, her eyes full of resolve and a fragility.

Bridget’s eyes stayed transfixed on Franky as she shed her underwear and stood gloriously naked before her. 

Franky knelt on the bed and crawled up Bridget’s body to meet her lips. The kiss was tender and full of need. Bridget sighed and wrapped her arms about Franky's neck, drawing her closer. As the kiss intensified, Franky slowly lowered herself so she was atop the blonde. Bridget shifted beneath her, parting her legs so that Franky sank between them. They both gasped at the intimate contact as Franky settled between her thighs. 

Franky smiled as she continued to kiss Bridget, whose lips parted pliantly and Franky slipped her tongue into Bridget’s mouth. Their tongues danced around each other and it was slow and sensual… and dear God, Gidget's body was throwing off heat that Franky would happily suffer third degree burns for.

Bridget made a low growl sound in the back of her throat; the weight of Franky pressed against her in combination with the fierce kisses was wonderful. Bridget ran her hands leisurely down Franky’s back, scraping her nails against skin, just hard enough to make Franky breakout in goose bumps. When she reached the curve of Franky’s backside, she slid her hands lower, cupped Franky’s rear and tugged her closer.

Franky tangled her fingers in Gidge’s hair and kissed her harder. The blonde bent her knees so that her thighs hugged Franky’s hips. With a gentle thrust of her pelvis, Franky grinded against Bridget and they both moaned but didn’t break the kiss… their mouths sought each other more urgently and Bridget canted her hips and pushed up into Franky.

They writhed against each other until they were both panting, then Franky pulled back and reached down between them. She grasped the hem of Bridget’s nightdress and inched it up until it cleared Bridget’s hips, then lowered her mouth to Bridget's throat, peppering her skin with ardent kisses. Bridget arched her neck, giving Franky better access.

They hadn’t done this in so long, Franky’s head was spinning with desire.

She ran her hand up the back of Bridget’s thigh and felt the blonde shiver, she grazed Bridget's pulse point with her teeth and Bridget hissed her pleasure. 

Franky travelled downwards, nuzzling and nipping at Gidge’s collarbone as her hand slid higher up Bridget’s thigh and stroked gently between her legs. Her fingertips were met with soft, wet curls. A breathy gasp escaped Bridget as Franky slipped a finger into her slick folds and ran it from perineum to clit.

“Oh!” Bridget groaned and caressed her hands up and down Franky's back encouragingly.

Franky deftly stroked Bridget several times; slowly but firmly. Bridget’s legs spread further apart and Franky could smell her arousal now, that musky scent that drove her wild and made her mouth water.

She continued to kiss Bridget’s throat and trailed her lips down her chest, to where the cotton nightdress concealed her breasts. Bridget’s nipples were already taut beneath the coarse material so Franky bent her head and sucked a nipple into her mouth through the fabric. Bridget pressed up into Franky’s touch with a soft moan.

Franky’s hand teased Bridget’s clit, tracing small circles around it and then she slid lower and breached Bridget, burying two fingers deep inside her. 

“Oh! Oh god!” Bridget mumbled, her eyes closing in ecstasy.

Franky pulled out, then dove inside again, just at the entrance, over and over. Bridget’s mouth fell open in a silent cry. Franky studied her closely; she loved watching Gidge when they made love, it was so intimate and visceral that sometimes she couldn’t bare it.

She scattered tender kisses across Bridget’s jaw as she moved her fingers, gentle and measured, in and out. Moisture coated her fingers and she soon found a rhythm that had Bridget panting and lifting her hips to meet Franky’s thrusts.

“F-faster,” Bridget cried hoarsely.

Franky obeyed, her fingers plunging faster and harder into Bridget. The friction, the relentless momentum created a delicious burning pleasure and as Bridget began to shake, she wrapped herself around Franky. Her legs hooked around Franky’s waist, gripping her tightly, changing the angle… allowing Franky to push deeper into her.

Franky felt like she was losing her mind; Bridget was so hot, so fucking hot and wet down there. Sweat trickled down Franky’s back and her movements became more frantic as she felt Bridget begin to pulse around her. 

Bridget sobbed when Franky’s thumb grazed her clit and Franky claimed Bridget’s mouth again, muffling any other sounds. Her tongue caressed Bridget’s in time with her thrusts and she felt Bridget’s inner walls tighten and clench around her fingers. She was so close. Franky rubbed Bridget’s clit roughly, once, twice, three times… Bridget clutched hold of Franky and wailed as she came. 

She arched off the bed, head thrown back, and her whole body went rigid as the orgasm jutted through her; intense and rapid.

Then she wilted back down into the mattress, sated and dazed. Franky placed light kisses on her shoulder and then gently eased off her and lay beside her. She gazed at Bridget, her arm wrapped securely around her waist.

Bridget opened her eyes and licked her lips, her heartbeat slowing as she got her breathing under control. She turned her head and smiled at Franky. 

“I think we’re a little rusty,” she murmured, her voice thick and seductive as she propped herself up on her elbow and ran her index finger across Franky’s kiss swollen mouth. “Maybe we should keep practicing, you know… till we get it right,” then she leaned forward and planted a demanding kiss on the brunette’s lips. 

Franky’s entire body hummed from the fervour of that kiss, she blinked as Bridget drew back, feeling intoxicated. “Practice does makes perfect,” Franky mumbled.

Bridget sat up, reached for Franky’s hand and zealously pulled Franky to her. The brunette straddled Bridget’s lap and locked her arms around Gidget’s neck. Bridget gripped Franky’s hips then stroked her hands up Franky’s side and smiled when she felt Doyle tremble and exhale sharply.

She tilted forward and sucked on Franky’s bottom lip, eliciting a deep moan, then lowered her mouth to Franky’s throat and covered it with kisses while her right hand skimmed the underside of Franky’s breast, fondling gently, then plucked at a hardened nipple causing Franky to whimper.

Franky was already beyond turned-on from watching Gidge come. Her skin was coated with a sheen of sweat, her thighs were damp, her clit throbbed and she was desperate for Bridget’s touch - this was just prolonging her agony.

Franky kissed Bridget’s shoulder and whispered; “I need you.”

The blonde ran both her hands up Franky’s supple thighs, making her shiver. Then Bridget slipped one hand down and gently pressed against Franky's swollen sex. Franky bit her lip and rested her forehead against Bridget's, staring straight into her eyes. Her gaze filled with longing and reassurance and lust. 

Bridget’s left arm snaked around Franky’s waist, anchoring her in place as the hand between Franky’s legs began to move. Light touches, teasing and tremulous. Franky could barely stand it. She wanted to tell Bridget to go harder, faster… but this was exquisite torture.

Their eyes stay fixed on each other as Franky’s breathing became shallow and her heart pounded. She began to rock her hips, thrusting against Bridget’s hand as it rubbed her. The sound of blood rushing through her ears was almost deafening and her body temperature shot up several notches.

As they moved together Franky’s grasp on Bridget tightened, drawing them closer together and her taut nipples brushed against the rough material of Gidge’s cotton nightdress, the sensation made her toss her head back and groan.

Then Bridget’s agile fingers hit a sensitive spot and Franky gasped as she tried to pull back - it was too much… but Bridget’s arm kept her locked in place and she couldn't move away, couldn't slow the rhythm and couldn’t stop the delicious torture.

“Gidge,” she rasped as her body began to shake. “Oh god,” she purred as the warmth started in her toes and rolled through her body. Bridget didn’t let up, her fingers working ceaselessly. “Oh! Oh!” Franky squirmed, the tension in her loins built and built and then surged through her; like fireworks exploding and streaming. Her fingers dug into Bridget's shoulders and she made a choking sound.

Bridget increased the pressure… it was intolerable… Franky’s thighs quivered and she heard herself beg, “Now, please – now!”

With a mischievous smirk, Bridget drove three fingers inside Franky who gasped as she burned and stretched. She made several jerk thrusts as she rode Bridget’s hand. Lights went off behind her eyes and she felt like clawing the walls, then Bridget curled her fingers and Franky bucked and cried out as her orgasm hit, sending her spiralling into rapturous pleasure. 

The world momentarily dimmed and her vision went blurry. Franky gasped for air and her throat felt raw… she must have screamed… Completely spent, she collapsed against Bridget, breathing heavily. Her head rested against Bridget’s shoulder and the blonde stroked her back and whispered soothing words as she floated back down.

Bridget kissed her temple and held her tightly. When Franky regained her senses she drew back from Gidge and pulled her into a feverish kiss. When they broke apart, both winded, they gazed at each other in wonderment.

“Remind me why we haven't done that for over a month,” Franky said.

Bridget smiled. 

They separated long enough to get under the bed covers, then fell back into each other’s arms. Franky tucked herself into Bridget’s side and rested her head against Gidget’s chest while Bridget traced lazy circles across her back.

“That was amazing,” Bridget murmured and buried her nose in Franky’s hair; breathing in the scent.

Franky basked in the warm afterglow of great sex. “It really was,” she agreed, thoroughly exhausted.

“So where’s my walnut cake?” Bridget teased.

Franky ran her hands up Bridget’s ribs and tickled her. Bridget let out a delighted squeal and pulled away from her lover but Franky held onto Gidge and heaved her back into her arms. Franky slipped her arms around Bridget’s waist, curled-up to her and kissed the nape of her neck. “Happy Birthday Gidge.”

Bridget leaned back into Franky. “Thanks baby.”

As they lay there tranquil and sated, Franky’s eyelids became heavy and she started to drift into a deep sleep, a smile firmly on her face. She and Gidge were fine, they could get through any rough patch as long as they remembered what was important. This – this was important… them together. They just had to hold on a little longer and a little tighter.

**********

They spent the morning in bed, languidly wrapped in each other. Reconnecting, enjoying the feel of each other. Exchanging whispered words and caresses that had been missing for too long.  


Franky devoted her attention, nimble hands and mouth to pleasuring Bridget, while Gidge repaid every kiss and stroke with her own.

They ventured into the kitchen only when their stomach’s betrayed them; growling in protest. 

They ate a hearty breakfast and then lounged the day away. Gidget read the newspaper aloud as they lay on the sofa, they watched a movie and Franky taught Bridget how to cook a walnut cake (though Bridget got more flour on her than in the bowl). Then they sat out in the garden with a bottle of wine and talked until night fell, watched their neighbour’s impressive firework display in honour of _Australia Day_ , went skinny dipping in the pool, kissed passionately in the moonlight and fell back into bed, sinfully happy.

It was a good day.


	4. Chapter 4

When Bridget arrived in the staff room on Wednesday morning she spotted a pale-faced Vera pouring a cup of tea. She approached and smiled warmly.

Vera met her eye, looking downhearted.

“What’s wrong?” Westfall asked.

“It’s Jan.”

Bridget’s stomach dropped and she braced herself.

“She lost the baby last night,” Vera informed her.

Bridget sighed sadly and rubbed her temple, feeling a headache grip her. “How is she?”

“Taking it badly. The doctor had to sedate her.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bridget mumbled. This was Jan’s third miscarriage.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Vera said and handed Bridget the tea she’d just made. The blonde smiled wanly and accepted the offering.

Vera set about making another.

“What does this mean for Milla?” the psychologist inquired.

“She’ll be transferred to another prison. She can’t stay here, not once the women find out she’s responsible for Jan’s miscarriage. She’ll be charged with causing grievous bodily harm with intent and probably have ten years added to her sentence.”

Bridget took a fortifying breath. Sometimes she really fucking hated her job. 

**************

No sooner had Franky set her briefcase down on her desk than Lorraine came scurrying towards her, face stricken. She leaned against the back of Franky’s chair. “Noah’s just walked into the _Young Kingz_ clubhouse and opened fire,” she declared.  


Franky’s eyes widened in alarm. _Well shit._ So much for an uneventful morning.

Lorraine motioned for Franky to follow her. They headed towards her office where she had a TV and the news was looping footage of the incident.

“He shot two club members dead and is holding eleven more hostage,” Lorraine said over her shoulder.

They entered Lorraine’s office, perched on the edge of her desk and watched a reporter covering the story live from the scene.  


The Police had cordoned off the street and surrounded the _Young Kingz_ clubhouse with patrol cars and armed officers. Noah passed in front of the club doors brandishing a gun. Suddenly there were muffled screams and the sound of gun shots.  


Franky tensed and the colour drained from her cheeks.

**************

Westfall’s eyes were squeezed shut as she took several steadying breaths. She wanted to speak to Franky, needed to hear her voice, to have something to hold onto. Something good. Something to make this shitty day less shitty.

She sat in her car. It was lunch time and she’d just needed to get away from the claustrophobic feel of her office and the sterile corridors and high walls of _Wentworth_.

Bridget dialled Franky’s number. It rang three times.

“Please pick up,” Bridget mumbled desperately. “Please baby, pick-up.”

It rang two more times.

Franky answered. “Hey Gidge,” came the familiar, warm voice. 

Bridget released the breath she’d been holding and instantly felt lighter. “Hey.”

“Everything okay?” Doyle asked.

 _No. It’s terrible. It’s fucked-up. I hate the cruelty of the world and want to quit my job. All I want is to be in your arms. To forget everything. To breathe you in and shut the world out._

Bridget opened her mouth to say all of this but didn’t get the chance.

“Because unless it’s an emergency – I’m real busy,” Franky said, a hint of impatience in her tone.

Bridget closed her mouth. Felt as if she'd been slapped.

There was a slight pause, then feeling that she’d been too sharp, Franky added; “Noah’s gone on a rampage and Terry just got sacked. It’s a shit storm here.”

Bridget pinched the bridge of her nose. “Terry was fired? Terry who started at _Clayton & Associates_ the same time as you?”

“One and the same. Idiot forgot to file a court motion and it cost our firm the case. Duncan went postal and fired Terry in front of the whole office.”

Bridget frowned. “Poor guy.”

“If he couldn’t keep up with the workload Gidge, he didn’t deserve to be here.”

There was a tense silence as Bridget allowed herself to be appalled by this statement. “He didn’t deserve to be publicly humiliated either,” she snapped.

Franky bristled. “I’ve got to go – crazy day. See you at home?”

“Sure,” Bridget replied. “I just - ”

“Bye.”

Franky hung up and Bridget stared at her phone for a moment. Then flung it across the car. It hit the door and shattered. It didn’t make her feel better.

**************

Just after midnight Franky fitted her keys in the lock and crept into the unlit house. She made a beeline for the fridge; she was ravenous. Today had been so hectic she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. When she opened the fridge door, the sharp light flooded the darkened room. That’s when she noticed Gidge sitting on the sofa.

She gasped in surprise, raising a hand to her chest. “You scared me,” she muttered, took a leftover chicken wing, bit into it and closed the fridge. 

She moved towards the sofa, switching on a lamp as she went. She was still annoyed by Bridget’s snarky tones earlier in the day but the blonde looked so subdue, so unlike herself that Franky’s irritation was quickly quashed by concern. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“No,” came the dull reply.

Franky sat on the arm of the sofa. “You wanna talk about it?”

Bridget didn’t look at her, just stared straight ahead. “I did. Five hours ago but you weren’t here.”

“I was at work,” Franky said defensively.

“There’s a shocker,” Bridget retorted. She met Franky’s eyes, her gaze cool. “You know what would be great – if you were actually here. Not running late, not apologising, not making big romantic gestures after you’ve screwed-up. How about not screwing-up to begin with? How about that?!” She got to her feet and was about to storm off when Franky caught hold of her arm and pulled her back.  


“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“Like you’d care!” Bridget barked. She yanked her arm away and marched off towards the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Teeming with frustration, Franky kicked the nearest thing – the bin skidded across the floor, crashing into the kitchen counter. Litter spilt everywhere. Franky buried her face in her hands and let out an infuriated cry.

Franky slept on the couch that night. Instinct told her to give Bridget space and actually – she didn’t feel like apologising. It’s all she ever fucking did these days. She was finally getting somewhere with the Kittering case, making her mark at _Clayton & Associates_ and refused to feel guilty about being good at her job. So she spent less time at home, Gidge would just have to get used to it. Sure things were strained at the moment but they’d get better. Surely. Weren’t they supposed to be in a proper adult relationship - where they compromised and talked things through? But Gidge had worked herself into a snit and then thrown a tantrum. So she could bloody well stew. Franky wasn’t about to grovel, she’d done nothing wrong.

**************

Bridget lay awake half the night replaying their row in her head. Thinking of all the things she should have said but didn’t. Thinking of all the things she had said but shouldn’t. 

She remembered the early days; when their relationship was new and they’d enjoyed a carefreeness. Nothing stays the same; nor should it. She likes how intricate their relationship has become, how well they know each other but along with familiarity comes complacency - taking each other for granted and losing sight of what brought them together in the first place.

Bridget worries Doyle is turning into someone she doesn’t recognise, someone she doesn’t want to be around. Franky has always been a hothead but she also had a heart… lately there’s a hardness about her that wasn’t there before.

Bridget can put up with the long hours, can excuse Franky missing her birthday if Franky - her Franky - comes home every night. But Franky is changing, becoming mercenary and Bridget doesn’t like it, doesn't know how to stop it.

**************

The following morning, Franky had to leave for work before Gidget emerged from the bedroom. So she left a note:

_We hardly see each other, I don’t want to fight when we do. Do you?_

 _Franky xx_

She hoped that would be enough. Hoped they could get through this weird little bump in the road. Bridget had been acting weird lately.

When she arrived at work she headed straight for Lorraine’s office and found her boss behind her desk, eyes glued to the TV screen. She set the half-fat Americano she’d bought in front of Lorraine.

“Any news?” Franky asked. 

Lorraine took the coffee and sipped it. “Noah’s shot another gang member and has made demands, including $200,000 and a getaway car.”

Franky shook her head. Where he planned to run to, she had no idea. Surely he could see how futile his trying to escape was. There were only two possible outcomes to this situation; capture or death.

“You get any sleep?” she asked her boss, doubting Lorraine even went home last night – she was wearing the same skirt suit but had changed her shirt. Franky knew she kept extra shirts in her desk draw for emergencies.

“Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford right now,” Lorraine snorted. She took a giant gulp of coffee and her eyelids fluttered shut; her taste buds were in heaven.

The news reporter looked equally haggard, having been on the scene since it started. She was a 20-something blonde anorexic with too much rouge. “After a 24 hour standoff, the gunman – whom we now know as Noah Boyd – a member of a rival gang is…” Franky’s concentration wavered and the reporter’s voice trailed off.

Lorraine glanced up at her and took in her dishevelled appearance. “What happened to you? You look like shit.”  


Franky shrugged. “Had a domestic. Slept on the couch.”

Lorraine smiled bitterly. “Been there.”

Franky chewed her bottom lip. She didn’t want to be a serial fuck-up in her personal life. She had to find some middle ground. Find a way to balance work and keep Gidge happy… well, content. Hell, she’d settle for moderately not pissed-off right now.  


“I’m on husband three,” Lorraine said flatly.

A cold shiver ran down Franky’s spine and she pursed her lips. No. This was not her future. She wanted to be good at her job but she wouldn’t sacrifice Gidge for it. She would not turn into Lorraine. She could have the dream job and keep the girl. She could make it work.

A commotion on the news caused them both to snap their attention back to the TV. 

The blonde reporter excitedly described the scene - The Gang Crime Squad had just charged into the _Young Kingz_ clubhouse. Gunshots rang out and cries. A few moments and lots of fuzzy camerawork later, the police re-emerged with Noah in cuffs, having taken him into custody.

Franky and Lorraine expelled the breaths they’d been holding as Noah was led to a police car. They exchanged an elated smile and rushed towards their phones – preparing for the fallout.

**************

Bridget sat in front of her laptop at her kitchen table. She was typing up her case notes on Kim Chang. She sighed and took a sip of tea – she wanted something stronger but needed to keep a clear head for this report.

Chang had tried to kill herself today. 

Somehow she’d got hold of a blade fashioned from a piece of window grille that had been sharpened to a point. Chang had booked an appointment with Bridget, one-on-one. Bridget had been pleased, hoping this was some kind of breakthrough but the girl calmly sat there in her office and told Westfall how she’d destroyed her life by taking Franky away from her, pulled the shiv from her pocket and slit her own throat. No hesitation.

Bridget closed her eyes as the image haunted her. The surety in Chang’s eyes, the terror, despair and triumph.  


Westfall had leapt out of her chair, hit the emergency button and crouched over Chang’s limp form, using her jacket to press against the wound to stop the bleeding. Luckily Kim hadn’t cut deep or hit an artery so Bridget managed to stem the bleeding until prison officers arrived and Chang was rushed to the medical unit.

Covered in Kim’s blood, shaking and distressed, Bridget stood in the corridor outside the medical unit. Vera approached her diligently and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she said kindly, then sent Bridget home.

In the sanctuary of her home, Bridget rubbed her face wearily. She was writing her notes up carefully and thoroughly; she had to get this right.

Just then the front door opened and Franky breezed in with the biggest smile on her face. “This is the best day ever!” the brunette exclaimed, a swing in her step as she flung her briefcase down on the sofa. 

Bridget stayed silent.

Doyle slipped her jacket off and threw it across the back of the sofa. She bent and kissed Bridget’s cheek. “Noah was apprehended. He’s in custody and we are going to kick his butt in court.”

Bridget blinked, not taking anything in. She still felt numb and a little dazed. 

Franky picked-up on Gidget’s non-reaction and her face instantly lost its glow. “We broke the case – I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am,” Bridget managed, sounding remote.

Irritated because she thought that after Bridget got her note, they’d get past this, Franky’s eyebrows raised and her voice became defensive. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t feel like celebrating on the same day that Chang tried to kill herself.”

Franky stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Woah, that’s rough.”

Bridget nodded. “It was.”

Franky looked sympathetic, then smiled. “Okay, this’ll cheer you up - guess what Lorraine - ”

Bridget stared at her girlfriend - shock and incredulity fighting for prominence. 

Westfall’s expression stopped Franky in her tracks and her confidence faltered. “What?”

“You heard me, right? Chang tried to kill herself today,” Bridget clarified.

Franky looked blankly at her. “Yeah, I heard.”

Bridget shook her head, disappointed and incensed. “Oh I’m sorry, I forgot - only your life matters.”

“What? No. I just thought - ”

“She used a shiv to slit her own throat in front of me.” Bridget waited to see if this had any impact on Franky. The brunette seemed bewildered so Bridget ploughed on, staring coldly at her. “She’s in the medical unit now. In case you were wondering. In case you gave an actual fuck.”

Franky was confused and irked. “That’s terrible but what does it have to do with me?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I hadn’t realised I was only allowed to mention subjects directly related to you!” huffed Bridget. “You don’t give a shit, huh? It’s only those who can help your career that get your attention? The rest of us can rot.”

Franky glared at her girlfriend. “Don’t make this about us!”

“It _is_ about us!” Bridget shouted.

“My ex becomes a druggie and tries to top herself and you expect me to – what? Drop whatever I’m doing and go hold her hand? Kim is not part of my life anymore, Gidge.”

“No but she’s part of mine. I see her every day. Have to deal with her every day.” Bridget sighed. “And what about me? I witnessed something pretty traumatic today and you don’t seem to care.”

“Of course I care!” Franky exclaimed. “But you didn’t say _‘Franky I’ve had a shit day and really need to talk about it’_ did you? I’m not a mind reader.”

Bridget scowled. “You don’t have to be a mind reader to pick-up on someone else’s emotions!”

Franky shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say and I don’t get where this is coming from all of a sudden.”

“It’s not sudden! It’s been building for weeks!”

“It’s cos of the late nights, isn’t it?”

“No! It’s your whole attitude,” Bridget exclaimed. 

“Why are you so angry?”

“Because you never ask about my day,” Bridget blurted, then fell silent.

They regarded each other cautiously.

Franky’s eyes blazed and her nostrils flared. “Gidge, that’s the dumbest - ”

“You don’t have a clue what’s going on in my life, you never ask after the women - you don’t even take the piss out of Vera anymore. It’s like you stopped caring, about everything but your job.”

Stepping closer to Bridget, Franky said gently; “I’ve been preoccupied, I get that. I’ll try harder.” 

She reached out to cup Bridget’s face. 

Bridget pulled away. “It’s not about trying harder Franky – you shouldn’t have to make an effort to care about people!” she cried indignantly. “It shouldn’t be a chore to ask after other people or show an interest in how my day went.”

Franky saw red and her tongue ran away with her before she could control it. “You know Bridget, sometimes I think you enjoy making me feel like shit. I work hard and when I come home you make me grovel while you sit there - all high-and-mighty - because you never stuff-up, do you Gidge? You’re such a fucking martyr!”

Bridget’s cheeks coloured and she shouted; “I stuff-up all the time – which you’d know if you weren’t so self-absorbed! I didn’t pick-up on Chang’s suicidal intent, I was the one who recommended Jan be allowed in general and look what happened.”

Franky looked puzzled. “Who’s Jan?”

“I rest my case! You don’t know shit about my life because you don’t want to know. I don’t matter to you anymore, we might as well face it,” Bridget exploded.

Franky couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her jaw dropped and she felt panicky. “Don’t matter? What?” She went pale. “Who do you think I’m doing this for? I’m working my arse off and it’s all for you! So you can be proud of me.”

“You know who I’m proud of? Franky who got parole, Franky who finished her law degree and Franky who got herself a job despite all the obstacles. But this,” Bridget pointed at her girlfriend. “I don’t know this person.”

“You ungrateful hypocrite!” Franky shouted, her hackles rising. Then she put on a cruel, mimicking tone; “ _I don’t mind Franky. Stay as late at the office as you want Franky. I want to support your career Franky_ ,” Doyle’s voice shook with pent-up emotion. “Yeah, you want to support me as long as it’s not an inconvenience to you! You’re full of shit Gidge!” 

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and Bridget swallowed hard. They stared at each other, both breathless from fighting and hurt feelings.

Bridget gave a sharp nod of her head. “You know what… maybe you should go back to the bedsit for a while.”

Franky gaped at Bridget, her heart hammering in her chest and her mouth suddenly dry. “You’re not serious?”

“I think we need a break.”

“A break?” Franky mumbled in disbelief. 

Bridget held her steely blue gaze, then turned her back on Franky and walked down the hall. She entered the bedroom and quietly shut the door behind her. She sagged against it and closed her eyes, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood.

Alone in the kitchen, Franky tried to blink back the tears streaming down her face. She felt sick and dizzy and heart sore. She needed time to think, to breathe… to get her head around what had just happened. She grabbed her briefcase and hurried out the front door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a thank you to everyone who has left comments on this story. Sorry if I haven't responded to you individually - I've had a crazy couple of months in RL. Just wanted to let you know your encouragement has helped immeasurably, so thank you.

Franky drove to the nearest bar and proceeded to get trashed. This should have been one of the happiest days of her life – they were going to win the Kittering case and it was going to propel her several rungs up the career ladder. But Bridget had kicked her out and she’d gone from elation to dejection in 0-60. 

The problem was, Franky wasn’t ready for it to be over. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for that.

After too many shots of Tequila, Franky got a taxi to her bedsit. It was cold, impersonal and miserable and she hadn’t paid the bills in two months so her electricity and phone were cut off. She flopped into bed, lying face down in her pillow. She already missed the warmth and familiarity of Bridget’s home and realised, without noticing, that she’d started to think of it as her home too.  


An image of Bridget’s face contorted with anger, her voice harsh, plagued Franky. She’d never seen Bridget so furious. Normally Franky could shrug anything off – blame it on something else, someone else… but she’d brought that out in Bridget. A wave of guilt and shame hit her and for the first time since taking on the Kittering case, she examined her recent behaviour. 

She replayed every exchange, every crucial sign she’d ignored and realised, with excruciating clarity, that she’d been so swept-up in the excitement of her job that she’d lost sight of what was really important. 

Bridget.

Now she was in the doghouse and she had no idea how to get out. She had to convince Gidget that she’d seen the error of her ways, that things would change… that she’d stop being so self-involved.

“Agghhhh!” she yelled into her pillow, smearing mascara and black eye shadow onto the white linen and not caring.

She’d got the girl, this was supposed to be her happy ending - but she’d put it at risk.

“Stupid, stupid!” she scolded herself.

Then she collapsed onto her back, the room spinning, and set her alarm; she still had to be in the office tomorrow. She’d have to think of a way to win Gidget over when her head was less foggy.

She fell asleep dreaming of Gidget, sunlight streaming through her hair, flour on her nose, a smile playing on her lips as Franky taught her how to make walnut cake. 

**************

Bridget couldn’t sleep so she went into work early. She called in on the medical unit and sat at Chang’s bedside. She stroked the hair soothingly from the girls face.  


Kim murmured.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Bridget soothed.

Chang’s eyes blinked open and she looked-up at Bridget. For a split-second fear and regret flickered across her face. Kim closed her eyes again; exhaustion and the drugs they’d pumped her full of still heavy in her system.

“You’re going to be okay,” Westfall assured. “I promise.”

Kim mumbled something that sounded like ‘sorry’ and began to weep softly.

“Sleep,” Bridget whispered. “We’ll fix this, just rest.”

Then, without knowing why, she kissed the top of Chang’s head. She felt responsible for this girl and wouldn’t fail her again.

The day was long and Bridget immersed herself in it; not allowing herself to think about Franky, their fight or the future. But she carried an underlying melancholy, something she couldn’t shake… and she knew she’d have to face it but she couldn’t right now. She still felt so raw.

That evening, when Bridget arrived home, Franky was sat on her porch. She looked awful – dark circles around her eyes, skin pale and sunken. Bridget felt a pang of concern but she couldn’t do this... couldn’t let her guard down right now. It wouldn’t do either of them any good.

Bridget pulled her keys out of her bag and kept her eyes down. She didn’t need this now; she’d made it clear that she needed space and, typically, what Franky wanted eclipsed what anyone else wanted.

Franky leapt to her feet as Bridget approached. “Can we talk?” she pleaded.

“Not now,” Bridget growled.

Franky looked crestfallen. “I didn’t neglect us – you - on purpose. I was just busy, so busy that I…” she took a deep breath. “I screwed-up Gidge. But this – not talking to me – isn’t fair.”

Bridget shook her head. “I’m not trying to hurt you… I just need some time to clear my head, that’s all.”

“We’re not breaking up,” Franky said adamantly.

Bridget stared at her. “Of course we’re not.”

Franky nodded uncertainly. “Good.”

“I just need some time to think, to figure some things out.” Bridget levelled her gaze. “And you need to not be here in order for me to do that.”

Franky looked alarmed. “So you are dumping me!”

Bridget sighed impatiently. “Will you stop being a drama queen for five minutes! We are not breaking up – taking a break is not the same thing,” then she hesitated. “Unless you want to break-up? Do you?”

Franky stared at her girlfriend, dumbstruck. “No! I don't even want to be in a different post code from you!”

Bridget exhaled slowly. Relief washing over her.

Franky’s eyes softened. “I make a lot of mistakes, I know, but I'm learning. I’m getting there. I’m almost a fully-fledged adult – thanks to you. That’s gotta count for something?”

“Go home,” Bridget said gently. 

“I will but I have four things I need to say first.” Franky was determined to put it right and this might be her only shot.

Bridget was about to protest but something held her back. Whether it was the wretched way that Franky was looking at her or the need to clear the air, she couldn’t tell. “Okay.”

“Firstly - I’m not giving-up on us, ever. You’re stuck with me Gidge. Secondly I think we should set aside one night a week for date night - no interruptions permitted. Thirdly I’ll make sure I’m home by 9pm every night and on the rare occasions when I can’t avoid staying at the office later – I will call you and let you know,” she paused. Her hands were shaking and she had such hope in her face that Bridget immediately wanted to make promises, to offer anything... 

“Fourthly?” Bridget asked softly, eyes shining.

Franky stepped closer, full of regret. “Fourthly, this - which I should have done last night.” She reached out and took Gidget’s hand, pulled Bridget into her arms and gave her a bear hug. She held her tightly, burying her face against Bridget’s neck and whispered; “How was your day Gidge?”

Bridget’s arms wrapped around Franky. Doyle held her tighter. 

Several moments later Bridget drew back, smiling. She gazed up at Franky, soaking in the moment. She suddenly felt rejuvenated, felt light – Franky got it. This wouldn’t be a struggle, wouldn’t take all her energy. She felt a pang at doubting Franky. Doyle was always surprising her, in the best possible way. 

Franky cupped Bridget’s chin. “I get swept-up at work. Get tunnel vision, I don’t mean to, it just happens.”

“Your passion and ambition are admirable. I don’t want you to loose that. Don’t want you to feel guilty every time you have to stay late. I just… there has to be some middle ground, Franky.”

Franky stroked her thumb across Bridget’s bottom lip. “I can compromise but I can’t do it alone. You need to tell me upfront when you’re pissed off - you can’t wait for me to guess.”

“I should have said something sooner,” Bridget agreed.

Franky tilted her head and captured the blonde’s lips. The kiss was sweet and chaste. Franky drew back and leaned her forehead against Westfall’s. “I haven’t done many things in my life that I’m proud of but being with you – that’s exceptional. Every day I can’t believe my luck… I can find a balance, I swear I can.”

Bridget leaned back from Franky, reached out and caressed her cheek. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Franky declared and it’s so earnest that it bursts through the last of Bridget’s defences.

“All I want is you,” Gidget asserted. Hoping this would sink in, hoping Franky would believe her.

A grin broke out across the brunette's face. 

Bridget stepped closer and lifted-up on tiptoe to claim Franky’s mouth. Franky snaked her arms around Bridget and pulled her closer; enveloping them in heat and hope and promises.

As their lips parted, Franky whispered; “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Bridget whispered back. Then wound her arms around Franky’s neck and drew her in for another blistering kiss.

**************

****

**~ EPILOGUE ~**

**3 Months Later**

Bridget stepped into the darkened offices of _Clayton & Associates_ clutching a tupperware box. She spotted Franky immediately, head down, engrossed in work. A smile snuck onto her lips.  


As she neared, Franky looked up. A grin spread across her features; she was pulling an all-nighter so they could have the whole of Saturday together.

“Brought you some dinner,” Bridget stated and placed a quick peck on Franky’s lips. She drew back and held out the tupperware box.

“You’re a star, Gidge,” Franky said appreciatively.

Bridget leaned against the desk. “How’s it going?”

Franky glanced at her case notes. “Not good. We’ve got Leon Falco in custody but he claims he returned the boys to their mother, says she’s made-up their kidnapping because she’s bitter about the divorce. The police can’t find any trace of them. It doesn’t bode well.”

Franky ran a weary hand through her hair, agitated. 

Bridget reached out and rubbed Franky’s shoulder reassuringly. “You can only do your best. They’re lucky to have you.”

Franky studied her girlfriend. She smiled; her first genuine smile of the day. Sometimes, on days like this, she realised just how fortunate she was and just how fucking hard she’d fight to hold on to Bridget.

As they gazed at each other, Lorraine happened past. 

“Hi Bridget,” she greeted.

Bridget smiled. “Hi Lorraine, I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Oh?” Lorraine raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“How would you and Rob like to come over for dinner sometime next week?”

“Sounds delightful. We’ll whip you two at charades this time!”

Franky grimaced; that had been an intense contest - especially when she and Bridget were 12 points ahead of Lorraine and her latest husband.

“Great,” Bridget said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Lorraine turned her attention to Franky. “Why don’t you take a break? It’ll do you good to forget about the case for a minute.”

“Ta,” Franky said and got to her feet, keen to spend some time alone with Bridget. 

Lorraine bid Bridget farewell and headed towards her office.

Franky turned apologetically to her girlfriend. Usually Friday was date night but this case had been a rare intrusion into their private time. Bridget was being brilliant about it and Franky was trying to make sure it didn’t become habit. The routine they had was working; setting aside time each week for each other, talking everything through before it became an issue and not taking anything for granted.

She slipped her hand into Bridget’s and tugged her towards the stairwell. No sooner had the door closed behind them than Franky pinned Bridget up against the wall and kissed her hungrily.  


Bridget circled her arms around Franky’s neck and whispered in her ear; “We haven’t got time for that sort of thing.”

“A lot can happen in 15 minutes,” Franky husked against her lips as her hands slid down the blonde's sides and roamed under the hem of her blouse. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Bridget chuckled, her voice dropping an octave. “Well, seeing as I came all this way and you’re being so appreciative of the effort, why don’t we fulfil that little kink of yours?”

Franky’s eyes widened and a grin broke out across her face. “You mean the ?”

“Mm-hm,” Bridget purred. “It is date night after all and I had certain… expectations.” She pouted in an irresistibly sexy way that had Franky’s heart pounding.

“The bathroom’s on the 5th floor, isn’t it?” Bridget asked intently and stole a quick kiss.

Franky nodded in disbelief. Suddenly the idea of having illicit sex with Gidget in her workplace bathroom was the best idea she’d ever had.

Bridget grasped Franky’s hand and started up the stairs. “Well, come on then,” she enticed.

Franky trailed behind her, grinning. 

The End


End file.
